Intuition
by Beth Arritt
Summary: The VCTF crosses paths with the God of Love on a case. (A Cupid crossover)
1. Default Chapter Title

I don't own these characters, they're owned by NBC, who I'm not sure knows what to do with them, and ABC, who I'm very sure didn't know what to do with them, and all the great people (who do know what to do with them) involved in making these two shows. I'm not making any money off this, so feedback to [betha@gwu.edu][1] is greatly appreciated. 

What do you need to know? Well, if you're a Profiler fan and have never seen Cupid, Trevor Hale thinks he's Cupid, God of Love--the jury will forever be out on whether or not he really was. Dr. Claire Allen is sort of his guardian, appointed by the psych board to counsel him and assure that he's no harm to society. Champ is Trevor's roommate and co-worker at Taggerty's, a restaurant/bar. 

If you're a Cupid fan and you've never seen Profiler, Dr. Samantha Waters is a profiler for the FBI. She works for the Violent Crimes Task Force (VCTF), along with Agent John Grant, a former detective for the Atlanta Police Department. Their boss is Agent Bailey Malone, who also happens to be a long-time friend of Sam's.

* * *

**Intuition**  
by Beth Arritt   
_Copyright 1999_

  
"And that is why Mr. Roper bought it."

"You're trying to tell me Mr. Roper believed Jack was gay because he was really attracted to him?" Champ shook his head. "We need to get you more day shifts so you aren't watching so much TV."

Trevor handed a drink to a customer, ignoring the money the man tried to give him. "People see what they want to see. You know why?" 

"I'm sure you'll tell me," Champ muttered as he took the man's money for the drink and gave him his change.

"Love, my friend. Human perceptions are based in that all-consuming search for love. Mr. Roper thought Jack was cute, and when Jack said he was gay, bingo!"

Champ raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Why do I bother?" he asked before continuing the debate. "Have you forgotten that Mr. Roper was married?"

"Nope. That's my final proof. Did you ever take a good look at Mrs. Roper? Those big bones, that husky voice...." He trailed off at the sound of raised voices in a corner of the bar. The shouting caught Champ's attention, as well as the attention of most of Taggerty's customers. 

"I've had it!" the blonde screamed at her companion. "I'm sick of the way you're always staring at other women whenever we go somewhere." She jumped out of her seat and turned to leave.

The dark-haired man grabbed her arm. "Don't run out of here on me!"

"I just told you I was joining the space program and planning to spend the next five years on Mars and you were so busy ogling the waitress you said it sounded like a great idea! Why should I stick around?"

"Because you're making a scene!"

Something in her stance changed, and the scowl on her face was replaced by a wide smile. "That's not a scene," she said sweetly. She picked up the pitcher of beer on the table and dumped it over his head. "That's a scene!" she yelled before she stormed out.

"Isn't that one of your matches?" Champ asked, as he turned to where Trevor had been standing. But Trevor was already on the other side of the bar, following the blonde out of the building.

***

Trevor caught up with the girl at the street corner. "Melissa, wait up!"

She started to cross the street, then stopped as a car nearly took her leg off. "Trevor, I don't care what you say about him, I don't care if you think the two of us are the love match of the century, I am not putting up with his crap anymore!"

"Okay, calm down. What did he do?"

She turned watery eyes on him. "What did he do?" she echoed. "What does he always do? He was more interested in every other woman in the bar than he was in me. It's the same wherever we go. How long will it be before he starts going out with them behind my back, if he isn't doing it already?"

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "So Steve isn't the right guy for you. We'll find someone who is."

She gave him a sardonic smile as she wiped at one of her eyes. "Trevor Hale, bartender extrordinaire and full-time matchmaker. Do they teach this kind of thing in bartending school, or does it just come naturally to you?"

"I never went to bartending school."

"So it's a gift." She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "Thanks for trying your skills on me, Trevor, but I think I'll just go home for now. I'm a little put off on men at the moment," she declared as she stepped out into the street.

"Okay, but come back tomorrow, we'll look at other possibilities!"

She gave him an exaggerated shake of her head as she continued walking, never looking back. He watched her go for another moment, then returned to Taggerty's.

***

"Is she okay?" Champ asked as Trevor ducked back behind the bar.

"She'll be fine. She's just suffering from a case of testosterone poisoning." He glared in Steve's direction. "Guys like that make my job so much harder."

"Maybe you should just give up on the matchmaking for a while before one of your couples ends up killing each other."

Trevor frowned at him. "And maybe you should give up acting before one of your critics cuts you to ribbons."

"Hey, man, that's not funny."

"Neither is telling me to give up my life's calling," Trevor replied as he moved out of hearing range before Champ could say anything else.

***

It was three a.m. by the time they got out of Taggerty's. Champ went off with his current girlfriend, leaving Trevor to walk home alone. He whistled as he wandered down the sidewalk, trying not to think of all the progress he wasn't making when there was no one around to help find love. The way these people acted, he would never make it to a hundred couples. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he hadn't been brought back during the sixties. With all the drugs and free love, he'd have been back to Olympus in a week. Ten days, tops. And that was if he took time off to sleep.

He looked around at the buildings and lots. No wonder people were so uptight. This area was depressing. Maybe he'd have better luck in prettier surroundings. Everything here was so bare, so ugly, so--a flash of gold in one of the empty lots caught his eye. As he got closer, he realized the gold was actually blonde hair. When he pushed the hair back, he was shocked to see Melissa's face. 

He felt her wrist for a pulse, quickly becoming agitated when he felt nothing but cold, still skin. After a couple of seconds, he rolled her from her side onto her back and tried chest compressions the way he'd seen them done on TV. When he bent down to perform mouth-to-mouth, he saw the blood, and the large wound, and quickly realized there was no use in trying anything else. She was dead.

***

John blinked sleepily as he slid into a chair at the Command Center table. "Remind me again why we have to get up in the middle of the night for these things?"

Sam glanced at him with a combination of annoyance and amusement. "Because the sooner we go after the killer, the less likely he is to get another victim?"

"Oh yeah." He took a sip of coffee, either oblivious to her annoyance or not bothered by it. "So then why don't they call us after the first one?"

Before she could remind him that by definition, "serial crimes" meant more than one, Bailey walked into the room. "We have multiple homicides in Chicago," he began without preamble. He handed a disk to George, who put it in his computer and punched up the information. "Early this morning, Melissa Whirley was found by a bartender on his way home from work." A picture of Melissa's body at the crime scene appeared on the big screen at the end of the table. "Her neck had been slit from one side to the other. She's the third victim killed in this manner and left in a vacant lot."

Sam studied the picture. "Is that the position she was left in?"

"No, the bartender knew her. He said he didn't realize she was dead; he was trying to help her. George." George brought up the next picture. "According to him, she was lying something like this when he found her," Bailey continued.

"Who's the bartender?" Sam asked.

"His name is Trevor Hale. He works at a bar called Taggerty's, a few blocks from the murder scene."

She glanced through the file in front of her. "Does he have an alibi?"

"He says he was working all night; Chicago PD is still checking it out." Bailey picked up a file from the table. "The rest of the information is in the files. We leave for Chicago in half an hour."

***

"Hey, Trevor, have you seen the other shaker?"

Trevor handed the metal cup to Champ without a word and continued setting up the bar. The few left-over lunch customers weren't regulars, so they didn't notice anything off about Trevor's behavior. Champ gave him a worried look, however. He'd spoken maybe ten words since he'd come out of his room that morning. Trevor was a lot of things, but quiet was rarely one of them.

"So, how's business today?" Claire asked as she sat down at the end of the bar. Champ glanced at Trevor, who barely acknowledged the presence of his favorite target. He nodded and mumbled something that might have been a greeting, followed by something about scotch, then headed for the back room. Claire stared after him. "What happened?"

Champ leaned on the bar. "Did you hear about the murder near here last night?" Claire nodded, the wrinkle in her brow increasing as she realized Trevor had some connection to it. "Her name is...was Melissa Whirley. She came here a lot. Trevor fixed her up with some guy a couple of months ago. They had a fight last night and she left here in a hurry. Trevor couldn't stop her. He was on his way home last night and...he found her body."

"Oh, my God. Is he okay?"

He shrugged. "You saw how he was acting. Whatever he said when you came in was the most words he's put together all day." Trevor came back into the room, putting an end to the conversation.

Claire walked around the bar to where Trevor was stocking bottles. "Hey, Trevor."

"Hey, Claire," he replied without looking up.

"How are you today?"

"Oh, you know, I walked home from work, saw a friend dead on the side of the road, talked to the police, had a short nap and came back to work. I'm great."

"Trevor, maybe we should go somewhere and talk about this...."

He slammed a bottle under the counter. "I'm just fine, Claire."

She glanced over at Champ. "I'm sure Champ would cover for you."

"I said I'm fine. I'm not going to go berserk, or start trying to match up statues in the park or anything crazy. I'm just going to do my job and go home."

"Okay." She walked away, mouthing to Champ to call her if anything more happened.

After she was gone, Champ tried again. "You know, Trevor, I'm sure it would be okay if you took the day off."

"Can't take a day off. If I'm going to get back to Olympus and away from this place, I have to be out there." He slammed several more bottles into their spots. "I have to be mingling, I have to be talking to people, or I'll be stuck here forever."

"Okay, if you're sure." Champ moved to the other side of the bar, but kept one eye on Trevor, just in case.

***

"Hell of a place to die," John commented as he stepped under the police tape and surveyed the lot. The surrounding buildings were the same drab gray as the sky, making it almost difficult to tell where the buildings ended and the sky began. Only the voices of the few policemen and spectators milling around gave the scene any feeling of life.

"Is there a good place to die?" Sam asked as she studied the area with a little more intensity than her colleague.

John shrugged. "I guess not."

"Do you have the pictures with you?"

He blinked at the abrupt question, but pulled the crime scene photos out of a file and handed them to her. She considered the pictures for a moment, then looked around to find the exact spot the body had been the night before. After another minute of staring at the images, she turned her attention once again to her surroundings.

John watched the process in fascination. "What are you doing?" he asked as she turned in a full circle.

"There's no reason to it."

"Huh?"

"The bodies. He's not being picky as to where he puts them."

"They were all in vacant lots, Sam."

She shook her head. "But there were no similarities between the lots, other than the fact that they were empty, which made them convenient and made the bodies easy to find."

"So why vacant lots? Is he making some sort of comment about the intelligence of his victims?"

"It was the convenience that made them appealing," she answered, ignoring his attempt at humor. "It's as if he's telling us the women meant nothing. They weren't worth his time."

"It must have taken some time to plan the kills so he wouldn't get caught."

Sam lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug, still staring at the skyline. "The killing is important. The time spent planning that isn't a waste. But any time spent with these women beyond what it took to kill them quickly and efficiently is a waste. At least that's how he sees it."

"So one quick slash across the neck, drop her in the nearest lot and move on?" Sam nodded. "Why?"

"That's the question I still have to figure out."

"The bartender, Hale, is at work now," Bailey said as he joined them. "We can walk there from here."

Sam nodded, and the three of them left for Taggerty's.

***

Business was starting to pick up as people began dropping in to have a few drinks on their way home from work, but it wasn't so busy that Trevor didn't notice the three when they walked in. They looked about as out-of-place in Taggerty's as a tank on Olympus. Not that his uncle Mars wouldn't have liked a few tanks, but they weren't allowed.

The younger man headed for the bar, while the older one and the woman took a seat at a table. "What can I get for you?" Trevor asked as the man leaned on the bar.

"I'm looking for Trevor Hale."

"You are? And who might you be?"

The man held out a leather wallet, then opened it up to reveal a government ID. "Special Agent John Grant," he informed him in a self-important manner. "Who are you?"

"Cupid."

Grant blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Cupid. You know, God of Love, shoots you with a bow and arrow and *wham* you're too lovesick to think about tax evasion and aliens."

"Funny." He didn't look as if he really thought it was that amusing. "Who are you?"

Trevor sighed. "I told you. Cupid. The God of Love."

"Right. Where's your diapers?"

"I have *never* worn diapers," Trevor retorted in a threatening tone.

"Hey, Trevor," Claire said as she squeezed in between Grant and the customer next to him. "How are you?"

Grant's eyes narrowed. "I guess that makes you Trevor Hale, no bow, no diapers?"

"Thanks a lot, Claire."

Claire shot confused looks at the pair. "What's going on?"

"Dr. Claire Allen, meet Special Agent John Grant." He made the name sound much less impressive than Grant had when he'd announced himself. "G-man, meet the Head Shrinker."

Claire glared at Trevor before turning to the agent. "Is this about last night?"

"We just wanted to ask Mr. Hale some questions, but he was being rather secretive. It seems he didn't know his own name."

"That happens," Claire mumbled.

"Pardon me?"

"Never mind." She tried to gauge the expression on Trevor's face, but he was taking great pains to show no expression at all as he mixed a drink. "Agent Grant, maybe I could help a little until Trevor--"

"Thank you, *Dr.* Allen," Trevor broke in, "but I can handle this myself."

"Trevor, I don't know--"

"Claire, I do know." He handed her the drink he'd been fixing. "Now go find a table like a good little doctor and let me talk to the G-man so he can get back to the aliens."

Grant's face darkened. "I don't chase aliens. Do I have to explain the difference between reality and fantasy to you?"

Trevor laughed. "No, thanks. It's all been explained to me more times than I cared to hear." He wiped his hands and ducked out from behind the bar. "Let's go find your friends and get this over with."

***

They found Sam and Bailey studying menus at a table. John made the introductions as he sat down. "Mr. Hale," Sam began, "would you like to join us?"

Trevor crossed his arms and stubbornly refused to be seated. "I'm working."

She nodded. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us."

"I wasn't aware I had a choice."

"Could you tell us about last night?" Sam asked, ignoring the jibe.

"We were busy. Wednesday is our jazz night, so we get a lot of customers."

John glared at him. "What about the girl?"

"She was dead. The FBI needs me to tell them that?"

Sam shot a glare at John before turning a kinder face on Trevor. "Did you see Melissa here last night?"

Trevor sighed. "She was here with Steve."

"Steve?" Sam queried. "Her boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Or at least he was. They had a huge fight, and she walked out."

"And that was the last time you saw her?"

He shook his head. "I went after her. I introduced them, so I had a vested interest in seeing their relationship work."

"Did she seem worried that she might be in danger after their fight?" Bailey asked.

"No. Steve's a moron, but he wouldn't hurt her. At least not physically."

"Did you see anyone follow her?" Trevor thought for a moment, then shook his head. "So she left, you returned to work, and you didn't see her again until you were on your way home?" Sam asked.

Trevor stared unseeingly at the door over Sam's shoulder. "Yeah," he answered softly. "I was walking along, minding my own business, when I saw the light reflecting off her hair. It didn't even occur to me she could be dead until I saw her neck...."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Hale," Sam said after a moment of silence. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

Trevor nodded again. "Should I send a waiter over?"

"Please," Sam answered. Trevor went back to the bar, pointing the waiter in their direction on the way.

***

Claire watched the entire scene closely, and by the time Trevor made it behind the bar, she was there to check on him. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he replied as he kept one eye on the agents.

"Are you sure?" He nodded, still watching the FBI table, even as he served a drink to a customer. "If you're so sure, then why are you still staring at them like they're going to arrest you?"

"I'm not worried about that. I didn't do anything."

Claire studied the three agents for a minute, but still saw nothing of interest. "Then why are you watching them?" she asked finally.

"You don't want to know."

For a moment she was confused, then her face cleared an instant before a worried look settled in. "Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?"

"I think you're thinking of doing something that I don't think would be a good idea."

He spared her a quick smiling glance before returning his attention to the FBI table. "Look at those two, Claire," he said, ignoring her attempts to break into his diatribe before he really got going. "The way they avoid looking at each other. They hardly talk to each other, and when they do it's usually some kind of snippy comment."

Claire stopped trying to quiet him and blinked. "Snippy? I don't think I've ever heard you use the word 'snippy'."

"Short, curt, bitter--whatever you want to call it, all the signs are there."

She stared at the table again, but didn't see whatever seemed to be exciting him. "I assume you mean the younger one and the woman?"

"Can't you see it?"

"All I see is three colleagues having dinner."

Trevor sighed. "That's why I'm the god of love, and you're a tiny black and white head at the top of a small column in a large newspaper."

"Excuse me! I'm also a book."

"Whatever. Those two have the classic signs of unwilling lovers."

"What?"

He motioned in their direction. "Look at that. You can see the energy flying--I bet they've raised the temperature in the room at least five degrees since they came in."

Once again, Claire studied the table, this time focusing on just the two agents. "If anything, Trevor, I'd say the temperature around that table is colder than the rest of the room."

"They may look like they're being cold, but I think they're just using that coolness to try to put out the flame."

Claire blinked. "What?"

"You're the shrink, don't you understand the principle of love/hate?" She stared at him. "It starts on the playground at an early age. You like somebody, what do you do? Pass them a note that says 'Let's get together for coffee and see if our mutual interests mesh and we could make a loving and nurturing relationship for ourselves?' No. You go up to them and punch them in the stomach. If they like you, they'll punch back."

"Trevor, your logic never ceases to amaze me."

"Thank you."

She sighed. "I'll admit that sometimes people use coldness or rudeness to hide their feelings, but to take it to the level those two have, you'd have to either be in intense denial, or have feelings so strong that the slightest crack would cause a volcano."

"Exactly."

Claire stared up at the ceiling and prayed for patience. "Trevor. Even if by some miracle of a chance you're right, is it really wise to go messing around with the love lives of two FBI agents, especially those currently investigating a case you seem to have landed smack in the center of?"

"Something good might as well come out of this. Besides," he continued more seriously, "after what I saw last night, I don't even want to think about what those two see on a daily basis. Trust me, if anybody needs a love life to get away from that, they do."

Claire thought for a moment. She had a good idea that this was his way of giving himself something else to focus on during his involvement in the murder investigation. Fine. If it would help him deal with it, she'd drop it for the moment. She'd just have to keep a closer eye on him. She could handle that. She hoped.

Watching out for Trevor could be a full-time job.

***

"Excuse me, Agent Grant?"

John turned to see the dark-haired doctor from the bar approaching. He stopped, causing Bailey and Sam to wait as well. "Dr...Allen, right? The shrink?"

"Right, Claire Allen," she answered as she caught up with them. "I'm sorry to keep you, but I was just wondering...your conversation with Trevor, how was it?"

"Excuse me?"

She sighed. "I'm...I'm sort of responsible for him." 

John frowned at her. "Are you saying he's nuts?"

Sam glared at him before turning to Claire. "Dr. Allen, I'm Dr. Samantha Waters. What my colleague *meant* to say was is Mr. Hale your patient?"

"I thought you were an FBI agent."

"I am. But I'm also a psychologist."

"I see. Trevor was released into my care by the state, yes. But he's completely harmless."

John raised an eyebrow. "Then why were you worried about my conversation with him?"

"Because he's been through enough trauma in the last twenty-four hours. I'm worried that any more could cause him harm."

Before John could comment, Sam stepped in. "It was a short conversation, Dr. Allen. I only asked him a few questions about last night, and barring any unforeseen problems we shouldn't need to talk to him again."

Claire nodded. "Thank you," she replied before turning toward the door to the bar.

Once Claire was inside, Sam turned to John. "You really need to work on your people skills," she said before she continued down the sidewalk with Bailey, leaving John to follow.

***

Trevor saw Claire follow the FBI agents out the door, but he wasn't in a position to do anything about it. So he waited until she returned to the bar, then gave her the evil eye. "What was that?"

"What? I went outside for some air."

"It's thirty degrees outside, Claire. Only Eskimos go outside for air when it's that cold. You went to talk to the FBI agents."

She sighed. "Fine. I went to see if they were going to have any more questions for you."

"Why?"

"What happened last night--"

"--happened to me and I don't need you to fix it for me."

"Trevor--"

"Claire, leave it alone."

She opened her mouth, then apparently realized it wouldn't do any good. "Fine. For now," she added as she picked up her purse. "But you haven't seen the last of me," she warned as she prepared to leave.

"Oh, like that's a surprise," he shot back as she walked off. He glared after her, but all that did was make his eye twitch, so he went back to work and took out his frustrations on glasses, thanking Zeus more than once that he didn't have to pay for each one he broke.

***

Bailey glanced through the file in front of him, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes briefly to the green cement walls around him. "What did we get in the way of forensics from the latest scene?"

Sam shook her head. "Not much. There was a partial print on her shoe, but it doesn't match anything in the database. Probably isn't even the killer's."

"I still think the nut case bears more looking into," John said.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Could we please not refer to him as 'the nut case'?" she asked in a voice that sounded much calmer than she looked. "Besides, I don't think Hale is our guy."

"You heard his doctor. He's nuts--excuse me," he said when Sam started to protest, "mentally challenged, is that better?"

Bailey stepped in before their hostility could escalate further. "Chances are he's not the killer, but that doesn't mean we should rule him out just yet. John, take a closer look at him. Find out what the state had him in custody for, what he's like, the usual."

John nodded, shot one last glance at Sam and walked out. Sam closed her eyes after he was gone. "I'd like to take a look at the other dump sites."

"I figured you would. Chicago PD said they're not really intact, but you can check them out in the morning."

"I think I'd like to see them at night. See if maybe there's something about the sites in the darkness that we might be missing in daylight."

"Fine," Bailey agreed as he picked up his coat. "I'll take you."

"That's not necessary."

"You don't have a huge escort of agents here like you do in Atlanta. I'm going with you."

She shrugged. "You're the boss."

***

John slid onto a barstool as he surveyed Taggerty's, looking for Trevor Hale. A voice behind him almost made him jump. "You must be lost. Al Capone's hideout is three blocks from here."

"I'm not interested in Al Capone," John retorted as he turned around to face Hale. "He's dead; I'm pretty sure he didn't kill anyone this week."

"You never know. Those ghosts are supposed to be pretty tricky."

"Not nearly as tricky as the live people."

Hale moved to the other side of the bar, never letting John out of his sight. "What can I get for you while you grill me?"

"Who said I was going to grill you?" John put on his best innocent face, but it didn't seem to be working. "I came here for the food."

"Right. And you just graduated from the academy last week, so I'm your first assignment."

"That's funny, no one mentioned you were psychic."

"Not psychic, omniscient. Should I spell that for you?"

John took a deep breath. This was getting out of hand. "Look, Mr. Hale--"

"Cupid."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Cupid. Only my friends call me Mr. Hale."

He was kidding. He had to be kidding. "You really think you're Cupid?"

"You think you're an FBI agent?"

"I *am* an FBI agent."

"And I *am* Cupid. Funny how that works."

John blinked at him. "So you're Cupid? Then where's your bow and arrow?"

"Again with the bow and arrow question? Why does everybody ask me that? I wasn't allowed to bring it with me, okay?"

John had made it past the shock, and was now having trouble keeping a straight face. "Right. So what, you fell off a cloud one day and forgot how to fly? Or did you have to leave the wings behind too?"

Hale turned all the way around. "You see any wings?"

"No." With great difficulty, John kept himself from grinning. "Look, Mr. Hale--"

"Cupid."

"I am *not* calling you Cupid."

"Then I am *not* answering any of your questions."

John lost the battle with his amusement as a chuckle escaped. Hale's frown increased into a sharp look of disapproval. "Sorry," John apologized as he composed his features. "Fine...*Cupid*, we're trying to find a link between Melissa Whirley and the other victims." John pulled two pictures out of an evidence bag. "Can you tell me if you've seen either of these women before?"

Hale studied each picture. "They don't look familiar," he answered as he handed them back. "But then I see a lot of faces in my line of work."

"Flying around making love matches?"

"No, bartending." Hale shook his head. "Are you sure you're really an FBI agent?"

"Would you like to see my badge?"

Hale grinned. "As much as I'm sure it disappoints you not to have another excuse to flash it, no thanks."

John put the pictures of the victims back in the bag, sealed it, and stood up. "I don't think I'll have anything to eat after all."

"Good, because it's only 10:30, and we don't actually open for another half an hour anyway."

He thought about asking why the doors were open, then decided it didn't matter. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hale--I mean, *Cupid*," he said with a grin. "It's been...interesting."

"Hey, Grant, before you go, can I ask you a question?"

John took a moment before answering, "Maybe."

"That woman you work with, the doctor...is she seeing anyone?"

All traces of amusement disappeared from John's face. "You're not her type."

"Oh, not for me. It's just that my friend, Claire, knows this guy I think would be perfect for your doctor friend, and I figured as long as she was in town--"

"No," John interrupted curtly. "I don't think she'd be interested. She's seeing someone...sort of."

Trevor's smile turned into a grin. "I see."

"You see what?"

"Nothing. Have a nice day, officer."

"Agent."

"Right, sorry."

***

"I was right."

Sam looked up from the case file. "What?"

"I was right about Hale," John said as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table from her. 

Bailey leaned forward with interest. "Hale killed these women?"

"No, Hale's a nut case." Sam frowned at him. "Okay, fine, he's mentally challenged. The guy thinks he's Cupid."

"That's in his file?"

"No, I'm having trouble getting his files because of his mental health record, so I talked to him, and he tried to tell me he's Cupid."

"Maybe he just said that to get to you," Sam suggested.

John shook his head. "He seemed to believe it. Which reminds me, he says he has someone you should meet. I told him I didn't think you'd be interested, what with your ambulance chaser--"

"State Attorney."

"--but if you are, I'm sure you could give him a call at work and he could set you up."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to ignore the jibes. "Did you get any *useful* information from him?"

"He didn't know anything. Said the women didn't look familiar."

Sam stood up. "I'm going to get some coffee. Let me know if you get anything useful."

"I did get his fingerprints," John said as he held up the pictures. "If you're interested, that is."

***

John watched as Hale and his friend entered Gommorah's. From the loud dance music bursting through the door and the few people stumbling out of the bar, he could tell what kind of place it was. Hale probably thought it was the perfect spot for Cupid to make a few quick, if short lived, couples.

He waited for a moment before following them into the building. The smoky interior didn't exactly lend itself to finding someone, but he managed to locate the pair eventually. Hale was talking to a tall blonde while his friend stood by looking extremely uncomfortable. After a short conversation, the woman bristled, then slapped Hale before storming off.

If that was Cupid's approach, the divorce rate suddenly made a lot more sense.

***

Champ shook his head as his eyes closed. "Trevor, man, one of these days...."

"Don't let her fool you. I saw her checking you out."

His eyes shot open. "She was probably wondering if I was going to attack her. Look at the company I keep--it's a wonder the world doesn't think *I'm* nuts too."

"Take heart. I see another one coming this way and this one definitely looks like the right one."

"No, Trevor. Trevor, no. Trevor--"

"Excuse me, miss, can I introduce you to--" Trevor turned around and stopped short. Champ had disappeared.

***

"I don't care what kind of feeling you had. The next time you get a feeling about me and a sure thing, you'd better be talking about the tables in Vegas, because I am through letting you meddle with my love life."

Trevor shook his head as he flagged down a cab. "That last one really dug you."

"That last one nearly called the cops."

"I can't believe you," Trevor said as they both climbed into the car. "You share a home with the god of love, yet you mock his powers."

"You don't have any powers."

"Well, I did. And I will again. But it's not all gone. Look how many matches I've made already."

Champ laughed. "Computers make more matches than you. Face it, you're just going to--"

"Stop the car," Trevor called to the driver. "Here--just stop!" 

The cab was still rolling to a halt when Trevor jumped out and ran half a block back toward the bar. Champ followed in a hurry. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Trevor had stopped at a fence and was staring at the empty lot on the other side. "Not again."

"Okay, that's it, I'm calling Claire. She can--" Champ froze as he spotted the woman lying in the lot. "Oh. Is she...?"

"I hope not," Trevor said without much conviction before he ran for the gate.

***

Continued in Part 2

* * *

   [1]: mailto:betha@gwu.edu



	2. Default Chapter Title

* * *

**Intuition** - Part Two  
by Beth Arritt   
_Copyright 1999_

  


"I have no idea who she was."

John slammed his fist on the table. "I saw you with her. She yelled at you and took off. You killed her because she rejected you."

"You were spying on me?"

"That's not the point. What did you say to her at the bar?"

Trevor sighed. "I was trying to hook her up with my friend. She wasn't interested. She left. The next time I saw her...she was in the lot."

"Is that where you attacked her?" John asked as he leaned on the table.

"I told you, I didn't attack her! When we found her, she was already dead."

"Cut the crap, Hale. All that matchmaking must get frustrating after a while. Always setting people up but never getting the girl yourself."

A hint of a smirk crossed Trevor's face. "You're underestimating my personal charm."

"I seriously doubt it."

Sam's entrance silenced Trevor's response. "Mr. Hale, you're free to go." Trevor rose as John began to protest, but Sam put her hand on John's arm to stop him. "His alibi is solid. He was with his friend all night."

John kept silent, but a muscle twitched in his jaw as he glared at her hand until she removed it. After a moment, John realized Trevor was standing by the door, watching them, and not leaving. "Is there a confession you forgot to give us?" John asked through clenched teeth.

"No," Trevor answered with a smile. "Just...watching."

"She said you're free to go. So go." As Trevor opened the door, John offered a parting command. "Just don't go too far."

***

Claire sat back in her chair as she was transferred to yet another extension in the police phone system. She'd been trying to reach Dr. Waters for five minutes, and everyone seemed anxious to help her with anything they could--as long as it wasn't putting her through to the FBI agent she was looking for in the first place. 

Finally, the ringing stopped. "Grant."

"Agent Grant?" Claire asked in confusion. "I was trying to reach Dr. Waters."

"Who is this?"

"Claire Allen. Is Dr. Waters there by any chance?"

John was silent for a moment. "Dr. Allen--Hale's keeper, right?"

"I'm his psychologist, yes."

"Is there something I can do to help you?"

"Yes, actually, I'd like to talk to Dr. Waters."

There was another slight pause before he answered, "She's not here at the moment, but I can have her call you."

"That's fine." She gave him her office and cell phone numbers and hung up the phone wondering briefly about the security surrounding the agent before returning to her own work.

***

It was almost lunchtime when a knock at the door distracted Claire from her reading. "Come in," she called as she sat up and made sure she wasn't too wrinkled from being slouched over her desk for the last hour. Her eyes widened in surprise when the door opened. "Dr. Waters," she said as she stood. "You didn't have to stop by in person."

Sam smiled as she crossed the room. "I was at the scene of last night's crime and your office was on the way. I figured I might as well come by."

"Please, have a seat," Claire offered, indicating the chair in front of her desk. Both women sat down. "There was another crime last night? Was it the same killer?"

Sam nodded. "I figured Mr. Hale would have told you."

"Trevor was involved?"

"He found the body."

"Again?" Claire sighed. This just kept getting worse. She didn't know how much more Trevor could take. She had no idea what he was repressing from his past, but the trauma he'd experienced over the last two days couldn't be helping his state of mind. Of course, the FBI might be able help her with his past. "Dr. Waters--"

"Please, call me Sam."

"Sam...Trevor is sort of a special case for me." She wondered if telling the FBI about Trevor's delusions would make him look guilty somehow, but then she realized that if they didn't know already, they'd find out soon enough. It would be better not to hide it, or at least what she could tell of it. She took a deep breath. "He thinks he's Cupid."

A hint of a smile appeared on Sam's face. "John mentioned something about that. Apparently your Mr. Hale declined to answer any questions until John called him Cupid."

"I'm not surprised," Claire responded with a slight laugh. "I don't think he liked your partner very much."

She was surprised when Sam bristled a little at that comment. "He's not really my partner. We're part of a whole team."

Her reaction was puzzling. Unless...maybe Trevor was onto something after all. Claire gave herself a mental shake. Trevor. He was the reason for this conversation. "I'm almost certain that Trevor's delusions stem from something in his past that was so painful he's completely blocked everything about himself from his mind, and he truly believes he's Cupid."

"Then where did the name 'Trevor Hale' come from?"

Claire ducked her head, ashamed to admit to one of the things she'd kept from the state. "From a sign in the courtroom at his sanity hearing. I didn't realize it at the time, though."

"Sounds like he's a pretty resourceful man. And a quick thinker." 

"He is." She didn't like the sudden speculative look on Sam's face. "But he couldn't kill anyone."

"How do you know that? Isn't it possible that he did kill someone, and that's what was so traumatic that he had to hide from himself?"

Claire blinked. She'd forgotten for a moment that she wasn't just talking to another psychologist; she was talking to an FBI agent. "He thinks he's been sent back to Earth to match up one hundred couples before he'll be allowed back on Mt. Olympus. Murder would hardly be a means to achieve that goal."

"True, but delusions manifest themselves in strange ways. If those women had rejected him, or his choice of a mate for them, he could very well have lost control and killed them in a fit of rage because they're keeping him from completing his task."

She had the feeling she wasn't helping Trevor at all. "You have to believe me. Trevor did not kill those women."

"I know he didn't."

Claire blinked again, something she was beginning to imagine people often did around Sam Waters. ""Then why...?"

"That still could happen at a later point. But these killings weren't done in rage. The scene would have been very different if that had been the case."

"I see," Claire said, even though she didn't. "If you've dismissed him as a suspect, that might make my request a little difficult."

"Maybe. I've dismissed him as a suspect. Some of the other members of my team are a little harder to convince."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Agent Grant?"

"Let's just say he doesn't always take my word for things." 

"I see," she responded again, and this time she was fairly certain she was beginning to see what was going on. She hated it when Trevor was right. "I was wondering..." she still hesitated to ask this, but she was getting desperate, "would it be possible for you to let me know if you find out who Trevor really is, say from his fingerprints?"

"I don't think we can help you there."

"Oh, if it's against policy or something, I understand."

Sam shook her head. "It's not that. I can tell you that we ran his fingerprints, and there were no matches. I'm sorry."

Claire didn't even try to hide her disappointment, although she wasn't completely surprised. "I should have expected it. It would never be that easy. Not with Trevor."

"Everyone meets someone now and then who challenges them beyond anything they'd imagined, I guess Mr. Hale is your challenge."

"You could say that again," Claire answered dryly. "So is Agent Grant your challenge?"

Something flashed across Sam's face too quickly for Claire to read. "John Grant can be difficult, but I have far worse challenges than him."

For some reason, the words reminded Claire of the trouble she had in reaching Sam that morning. "Is that the reason for all the security surrounding you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"My challenger does things that make Trevor Hale look like a merry-go-round." Sam rose from the chair. "But there's nothing I can do but meet the challenge and try to beat him at his own game."

Claire wasn't sure what Sam meant, but she sensed the topic was closed for the moment. Everyone repressed from time to time, even psychologists. "Thank you again for coming by."

"No problem. I hope your situation with Trevor turns out for the best."

"Thank you." Claire thought about warning the agent about Trevor's intentions, then decided against it. The woman had enough on her mind as it was. So she remained silent as Sam left the office. 

When Sam was gone, Claire picked up the phone and called Taggerty's. "Taggerty's Emporium, home of the weekly Lovefest."

"Trevor?" As if she really had to ask.

"Claire! What can I do for you?"

"You seem to be in a good mood."

"I am. A state I get the feeling you're about to invade like Sherman rolling into Georgia."

Claire rolled her eyes, even though she knew he might be right. "I was wondering if you could stop by my office before the group meeting tonight?"

There was a moment of silence on the line. "Why, Dr. Allen," he said in a prim voice, "are you asking me out?"

"Hardly. My office. Be here." She hung up before he could make her laugh openly and destroy what little control over him she might have left.

***

"Trevor Hale is not our guy."

John looked up from his notepad. "And a good afternoon to you too. Why so quick to jump on the Hale bandwagon?"

"It's not exactly quick," Sam said as she sat down opposite him. "For one thing, he doesn't even come close to fitting the profile."

"Oh, well then we can dismiss him without another thought."

It took all of her self-control to ignore his barbs. "His alibi is solid and every shred of forensic evidence points to anyone but him. I'd say those are good enough for most people. Even skeptical, paranoid detectives."

"Am I interrupting anything?" Bailey asked as he walked into the room.

"No." Sam accepted a folder from him. "What's this?"

"Autopsy protocol on last night's victim. Grace works fast."

"So does our killer," Sam commented as she opened the file.

Bailey nodded. "That's why we have to come up with a lead, and soon."

John looked through his own copy of the report. "Why would you plan a murder method, perfect your skill so that one quick slice across the throat would kill almost every time, then carry out the plan so carelessly?"

"He didn't perform the act carelessly. He was very precise about the method and where he left them. He wanted to show how unimportant they were, not give the impression that he was being careless."

"Okay, then, if they're so unimportant, why is he going through all the trouble to kill them?"

"His thinking isn't based in the same logic we use. It's skewed to his own particular neuroses. The planning has nothing to do with these particular women. It's something he probably feels he has to do. It might be a form of penance or retribution--no, not retribution, he'd put more anger into it if that was the case."

"So we can rule out the jilted lovers."

"Probably."

"Probably. Maybe. Might be. The only thing you seem to be certain of is that it's not Trevor Hale."

Sam lost the battle with her self-control. "Maybe if you bring me a different suspect instead of going back to the same one over and over again I'll have a different answer."

Bailey cut into their argument. "John. Go see if Grace managed to pull any prints off the Salente woman. Maybe we can get a match with the one on Melissa Whirley's shoe." 

John continued to meet Sam's eyes for several moments before he snatched up the autopsy report and walked out. When he was gone, Bailey turned to Sam. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," Sam answered, shaking her head.

"Nothing? Every time I turn around these days the two of you are arguing about something."

"We've had our share of disagreements on cases before. It'll work itself out."

He didn't look as if he believed her, but he let it go. "So what are our options? Two victims in two days--we need to find this guy fast."

"He's probably aware of our involvement. He wants to get as much work done as he can in case we catch him."

"Work?"

Sam shrugged. "I think he believes it's his duty to get rid of these women. Melissa Whirley and Joan Salente were both seen arguing with men before they were killed." 

"The first victim had a very loud, very public fight with her boyfriend the night she was killed," Bailey confirmed. "Chicago PD had him down as the suspect until this became a serial case."

"Any word on whether victim number two was seen arguing the night of her murder?" Bailey shook his head. "Maybe she did and no one saw it--except the killer. I think he's killing them because of the arguments."

"Because they don't know their place?"

"Maybe. He thinks they're worthless. Taking up space that's better off empty."

Bailey frowned. "He seems to be using night clubs to hunt for his prey. There are too many clubs in Chicago to cover them all."

"I might be able to narrow it down some."

"Okay. Then what?"

"Then we give him something to go after."

***

Claire took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Her brain had been doing double duty all day, covering her normal workload while constantly trying to work out Trevor's problems at the same time, and as a result she felt like she'd been up for twenty-four hours straight. She didn't know how she was going to get through the single's group tonight. 

A quick knock preceded Trevor's entrance. "Trevor Hale, reporting to the principal's office as ordered, ma'am." 

Claire wasn't in the mood for his behavior. "Sit down, Trevor."

He took the seat in front of her desk. "So should I ask what I've done, or just start banging your erasers?"

"Can you be serious for a minute?"

He composed his face into a somber mask for about three seconds before he burst into laughter. "Guess not." Despite her frustration, Claire had to smile. "See, that's much better," Trevor commented. "You were way too serious when I came in here."

Her smile disappeared. "We need to talk."

"Why?" When she didn't answer right away, he sobered as well. "This doesn't have something to do with the psych board, does it? Did they find out about what's happened?"

"No, Trevor, they didn't." She hadn't even thought about that. If they so much as caught a whiff of the possibility that Trevor was involved in a murder investigation, he'd be off the streets and in a straightjacket faster than she could say 'Cupid.' "But they might. And I need to be able to tell them that you're dealing with this."

"So tell them."

"How can I? You won't talk to me about it. I don't know how you're dealing with it, and if I don't know, I can't tell them."

"I'm dealing just fine."

Claire studied him for a moment. "I don't think you're dealing at all. What you must have seen...life is fragile--"

"I know how fragile life is, Claire. I know how fragile humans are. Remember Dan? One day he was coaching a hockey team, the next day he was being used for spare parts."

"Accidents and health problems are one thing, but to witness something somebody did on purpose like that is another thing--"

"Don't you think I know that? It's one thing to read in a book that the body has five liters of blood in it, but it's totally different to see it all laying on the ground from a gaping hole in someone's neck!"

Claire stared at him in silence. He looked a little stunned himself. After a moment, he looked at his watch. "You're going to be late for the meeting."

She blinked. She'd had her chance and in her surprise, she'd missed it. He had closed down again, but the fact that he'd opened up at all was progress in itself. He was dealing with this on some level; it was too close to the surface for him to have completely repressed it. So she'd let it go for now.

"Yeah, we'd better go."

"I'm not going," he said as he stood and headed for the door. "I've had enough psychoanalysis for one day."

She didn't try to stop him. She just watched in silence as he left, then picked up her coat and purse and followed him out the door.

***

"Agent Grant?"

John looked up at the uniform officer in the doorway. "Yes?"

"There's a Trevor Hale on the phone for Dr. Waters, but I don't know where she is," he said as he nodded at the phone on the table in the conference room. "Line three."

"Thanks." The officer left as John picked up the phone and punched the line. "Grant."

There was a momentary pause before Trevor said, "I was looking for Dr. Waters."

"She's not here. What can I do for you?"

"Not much, I'm sure."

"Look, Hale, if you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, we're a little busy trying to find someone other than you who might have killed these women, so I would think you'd want us to get on with our work. Unless, of course, you are responsible...."

"Fine. I remembered something else about Melissa from that night."

When he didn't continue, John prompted him. "And that is?"

"Something I'd like to tell Dr. Waters."

"She's not here."

"Then tell me when she will be and I'll drop by."

John closed his eyes briefly. "Tell you what. Why don't you drop by at one this afternoon and I'll see if I can't get her to be here."

"Okay, but if she isn't I'm not talking to you."

"Whatever." John hung up before he could say something to convince Hale not to come by at all. He turned his attention back to the report on the table and shoved his irritation with their main witness to the back of his mind to deal with later.

***

Champ glanced at his watch, then checked the clock to be sure of the time. "Hey, Trevor, it's one o'clock, aren't you supposed to be at the police station?"

Trevor smiled as he continued pouring a soda. "I'll get there soon enough."

"Aren't they waiting for you?"

"I certainly hope so."

***

"I can't believe we didn't get anything from last night's set ups."

Sam didn't look up from her reading. "So he took the night off. He won't rest long."

"So we all go out and party every night until he decides to kill again? That's efficient crime solving."

"You have a better idea?" she asked, still absorbed in her report.

John looked impatiently at his watch. "Where is he?" He stopped pacing beside the conference room table long enough to glare down at her in her seat as if this were her fault.

Sam shook her head. "You're sure he said one?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sam. Hale said he'd meet us here at one o'clock."

"Okay, fine." She turned her eyes back to the file in front of her, but after he'd checked his watch three times and two minutes had gone by, he noticed she still hadn't turned the page. "Interesting report?"

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"I just asked if the report was interesting?"

"Fascinating."

"Must be mesmerizing, since you haven't been able to get past that first page."

"There's a lot to read."

He glanced down at the paper lying in front of her. "That's the death certificate, Sam. Name, address, next of kin, cause of death, doctor. That's pretty much all you can get from that."

She checked her watch. "Where is Hale? He should be here by now."

"Any particular reason you're distracted?"

"Who said I'm distracted?"

"I did. Just now."

She sighed. "It's hard to concentrate on anything with you pacing around like that. Have a seat or something, you're making me nervous."

He dropped down into the seat next to her, leaning forward until his face was inches from hers. "And here I thought it was just because you were missing Peter."

Her eyes narrowed. "Paul. His name is Paul."

"Sorry. Paul." She continued to glare at him. "Hey, at least I didn't call him Mary."

"I think Hale is rubbing off on you."

"There's no need to insult me."

She gave up the battle for personal space and hopped up out of her chair to begin her own round of pacing. "It's a quarter after. Where is that man?"

"Stuck in traffic?"

"He only works a few blocks from here."

"Stuck at work?"

Sam picked up the phone, checked a list in front of her, and called Taggerty's, asked for Hale, then thanked the person and hung up. "He's on his way."

"How long has he been gone?"

"She didn't say."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Because I didn't. Are you going to keep harassing me like this, or will it stop eventually?"

John leaned back in his seat with a lazy smile. "I'm harassing you?"

"Yes, and you know it. You've been harassing me for weeks now."

"Gee, maybe you should press charges. I bet your boyfriend, Phil--"

"Paul!"

"Whatever. I bet he'd help you."

"I think we should drop this."

"By the way, did you tell him we were playing a couple in this little sting operation?"

Sam stopped pacing suddenly to lean on the edge of the table right in front of John. "You're doing all of this just because of Paul, aren't you?" John didn't answer, he just sat there without so much as a change of expression. "What's wrong, did you get rejected for the state's attorney's office too?"

The smile on his face disappeared. "No. I prefer to catch the bad guys and lock them up, not let them off on technicalities and legal loopholes."

"Did Paul do something to you? What, did he lose a case you had a stake in or something?" John didn't answer. "Or is it something else?"

John dropped his eyes to his watch. "I'm going to string Hale up by his toes when he gets here."

"And I'll sue you for police brutality," Trevor said from the doorway.

"It's about time," John grumbled as he stood up and faced the witness. "What took you so long?"

"Lunchtime rush, couldn't get away on time. A guy's gotta make a living."

"Not if he's in jail."

Trevor smirked. "I wouldn't know about that."

Sam gave John a warning look. "You said you had additional information for us?" she said to Trevor.

"Right. It's Melissa. When she left the bar, she was wearing a barrette. When I found her, it was gone." He shrugged. "It's probably nothing, but...."

"No, you did the right thing. Did you remember anything else?"

Trevor shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Well, thank you for that. And if you remember anything else, please let us know."

"I will. Nice to see you again, Dr. Waters." He nodded gravely at John. "Grant," he mumbled before walking out.

John frowned he watched Trevor leave. "Why do you suppose he had to come down here just to tell us that?"

"I have no idea," Sam responded with a shrug. "But now that he's gone, I have work to do." She snatched up her folders from the table and bolted for the door. John's frown deepened as he watched her go, then he sat down at the table and opened the nearest file to distract himself until they had to go play couples that evening.

"**

"Hey, Trevor." Trevor grimaced at the sound of Claire's voice. He wasn't in the mood to be checked up on, but at the same time he felt bad about dumping on her and leaving the night before. Or at least mostly bad. After all, she had asked for it...in a way.

"Dr. Freud, I presume?" He forced a smile on his face as he turned around. "A little early for dream interpretation. I usually have my best dreams at about three a.m. You're welcome to be there if you like--in fact, you can just stay over, it'll make it easier."

"Thanks, but as attractive as that offer is, I think I'll have to pass." She pulled her gloves off as she settled in on the barstool. "Can I get some coffee, please?" Trevor poured the drink and handed it to her, automatically shoving the cream and sugar closer before going back to putting glasses in the overhead holders. After a moment, Claire apparently decided he wasn't going to be the first to talk. "Trevor...about last night..."

He shook his head. "How did I know that was gonna come up?"

"Because whatever you may be, you're not stupid?" When he didn't comment, she prompted him. "I take it from last night that you've been thinking about Melissa and the other victim?"

Trevor blinked at her in surprise. "How did you know about the second one?"

"I talked to Dr. Waters yesterday right after she'd been to the crime scene." Her eyes never left him as she took a sip of her coffee. "Do you know if they have any new leads?"

"They didn't seem any closer to solving the case when I saw them at the police station a little while ago." A smile crossed his face. "You should have seen those two agents going at it. I stood outside the room and just listened to them argue for a couple of minutes before I went in."

"What were you doing at the police station?"

"Talking to the police? I tell you, Claire, those two have such a thing for each other that if they don't do something about it soon they're likely to attack each other across some police station table."

Her lips thinned as she gave him a level stare. "And what did you talk to them about?" she asked patiently.

"Oh, I remembered something else about the night Melissa...the night I found her."

"Something important?"

He shrugged. "She was missing something when I found her, that's all. I don't know if it helped them."

"So you've been thinking about what happened?"

"You think I have a choice?"

"Well, you could always just push it so far in the back of your mind you never think about it."

"Right, with the Feds on me constantly and the story on the news every fifteen minutes? I don't think so."

Claire tilted her head to one side and studied him carefully. "Are you okay with this?" she asked after a minute.

"I'm fine, Claire." She gave him a skeptical look. "Okay, I'm not fine," he admitted as he stopped stocking the glasses and faced her over the bar. "But I'm dealing. And I will be fine. Eventually."

She watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "I have to get back to work." She took another drink of her coffee, then slid off the barstool and started putting on her gloves. "You know where to find me if you need me."

"Okay, because I'm planning to play 'Catch the Love Slave' at eight, so I'll give you a call then?"

"Very funny," she called over her shoulder on her way to the door.

"Who said it was a joke?" he yelled as she walked out. When he didn't get an answer, he just smiled and shook his head before turning back to the glasses.

***

John looked around the dim, smoky room, then leaned down next to Sam's ear. "You're sure this is really necessary?" He had to raise his voice to be heard, but even so the room was so loud the risk of anyone eavesdropping was non-existent.

"It's the best shot we have at catching him before he kills someone else." Sam spoke in a voice that didn't match her smile. "Try to look like you're having a good time. I'm the one who's supposed to get angry."

"I'm having a great time," he said as he brushed her hair back behind her ear, then moved his mouth even closer to her ear. "Pounding music and too much smoke is the ultimate fun evening."

"I would have thought you'd like this place."

He pulled back, and she was surprised to see a hint of anger in his eyes. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do." Before she could respond, the anger was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. "The women here are a little young for me," he said with a smirk.

Sam looked around. The average age of the females in sight was about 22. Several rather mean retorts that sprang to her mind, but she kept the uncharacteristic thoughts to herself. "Maybe you're right."

His eyes opened wide. "I'm sorry, it's very loud in here. Did I hear you say I could be right about something?"

Sam glanced at her watch, fighting to keep her annoyance level down. "We still have about seven minutes before you're supposed to pick a fight."

"Oh, right. Heaven forbid we should get off the schedule."

She took a deep breath. "Bailey," she called, reminding John they had an audience, "anything from the other bars?"

Bailey's voice came though Sam's earpiece. "Two fights started, but nothing yet." Sam shook her head slightly to John to convey Bailey's answer. Her hair hid her earpiece, but his would have been visible, so he'd had to settle for a small radio attached to his belt in case he needed to communicate with the rest of the team.

"So," John said with a sigh, "how'd you choose these bars?"

"It's...it's complicated," she answered as she picked up her drink.

"You think I wouldn't understand?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

She slammed the drink back down. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?"

"You seem to have made making me angry your life's work these days."

He grinned. "Don't flatter yourself. The whole world doesn't revolve around you, Sam."

"Did I do something to you that I don't remember? Or is it just that you don't like me?"

At her last sentence his eyes narrowed. "Maybe I don't like lawyers."

"Here we go, back to the lawyer thing again. You don't like me just because I'm dating a lawyer?" Her volume increased with each word. "That's the only reason you've been such a jerk?"

"Sam, calm down, we still have five minutes--"

"To hell with the minutes!" She picked up her purse. "I'm leaving!" She turned on her heel and strode out of the bar.

***

John stared after her, mouth open, unable to believe that she'd stormed off. Samantha Waters wasn't usually the storm off type. Of course, she had been rather high-strung lately. But to storm off without regard to the schedule in the middle of a case....

The case. He looked around, but didn't see anyone paying particular attention to him, so he pulled the radio, made to look like a small cell phone, off his belt. "Bailey?" he said into the mouthpiece.

"What's going on, John?" His boss didn't sound happy.

"Um...slight change in plans. Sam just blew up and left."

"I heard. She's early."

"I know. The opportunity just presented itself, so she went for it."

"I heard that too." Suddenly John wasn't sure he wanted to get back to Atlanta. "We were a little far out, but we're trying to pick up her route."

John closed his eyes for a second. He'd been angry, and now he'd put Sam out there by herself, possibly with a killer on her tail. "Can't you hear her?"

"She's not responding."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw something resembling a button on the floor. He bent to pick it up, then started cursing under his breath. 

"She lost her comm."

"WHAT?" Bailey's voice came out of the radio and the earpiece John held in his hand.

"I said she's off radio. And I'm out the door," he added as he pushed his way out of the bar.

He followed the route she was supposed to take on her way back to the hotel, hoping she hadn't been so mad she'd walked a different way. When this was all over he was buying super glue for the earpieces. And then he was going back to the hotel and kicking himself. Hard.

***

[Concluded in Part 3...][1]

* * *

   [1]: intuit3.htm



	3. Default Chapter Title

* * *

**Intuition** - Part Three  
by Beth Arritt   
_Copyright 1999_

  
Sam hurried down the street, hoping that the exercise would help her calm down. She'd known John didn't like Paul any more than he'd ever liked Coop--no big surprise, considering that he probably hated ATF agents and lawyers more than anyone other than actual criminals--but he'd never been openly hostile to her about either of them until recently. Of course, she'd never let him get to her this much until recently. She wasn't particularly interested in analyzing his actions or her own. 

If they were going to continue working together, something had to give. She'd have to have a talk with him. In the morning. When she'd calmed down. And could talk to him without having violent thoughts.

The hand that grabbed her came out of nowhere. One moment she was rushing down the sidewalk, the next moment she was struggling against the crook of an immovable elbow digging into her neck. "You'll never learn, will you? I keep teaching you the lesson, but you keep coming back and doing it again and again." She tried to speak, tried to talk to him as if she was the person he was obviously substituting her for, but she could only just manage to squeeze a little air down her throat. There was no way she could force sound out. *Which is exactly what he wants.*

She forced herself to stop fighting and go limp. He wasn't expecting that. "Darla?" Sam didn't move, and the arm around her neck loosened slightly. It was all she could do not to gulp in air and reach up to protect her sore neck. "Don't give up this easily."

Footsteps echoed around the corner, and the arm tightened like a vice grip as he pulled Sam into a doorway and down a couple of steps. She could just make out the legs and feet of the person walking by, but she recognized John's shoes before the world started to get fuzzy. She tried to call out, but there was no way to make the slightest noise, so she went limp again.

"You're just fooling. As soon as I let you go you'll start in on me again. You'll never learn." The grip on her neck loosened again, and she saw light glint off metal a second before she felt the cold blade at her throat. She closed her eyes, willing her bruised vocal chords to make a sound, but even with air it was far too painful. At least she was no longer in danger of losing consciousness. Unless he killed her. "If you won't learn, I'll find a way to stop you."

"Freeze!" Sam's eyes flew open to see John at the top of the steps, his gun aimed straight at a point over her left shoulder. "Put the knife down." 

The fury in John's voice would have stopped most people, but her captor didn't seem to be in the same reality as the rest of the world. "No, you put down the gun."

"You've gotta get through me to get out of there, pal. Who's got the better end of the deal here?"

"But she'll be dead."

"And so will you." Neither man budged for countless seconds. Sam could see the tension radiating from John's body, and it crossed her mind that there was a muscle in his jaw that would be twitching uncontrollably right about now. *Great, I'm about to be killed and I'm thinking about jaw muscles.* 

Finally, John broke the silence "Look, she just embarrassed me in the middle of a crowded bar. You really think I'm all that concerned about what you do to her?"

"Then why'd you come after her?"

John shifted slightly. "She took my car keys with her."

The man behind her chuckled, and Sam felt the grip on her neck loosen a little more. If she could just get him to give her another inch or so she could probably do something about her situation. "Isn't that just like a woman? They unman you in public and then they steal your car."

"They're probably in her purse. Why don't you just toss me the purse and I'll be on my way?"

After several seconds, the man's arm relaxed a little more as he started to reach for the purse. "Sure, why--" Whatever he was about to say was silenced as Sam pitched forward, driving her elbow forcefully into his stomach. When he doubled over, she slammed her elbow into his back, knocking the knife out of his hand and him to the ground. His head hit the cement with a loud crack, and he immediately stopped moving.

Before Sam could even straighten up from her last hit, John had his left arm around her, keeping the other one extended and his gun trained on the unconscious attacker. Sam alternately coughed and pulled as much air into her burning lungs as she could, not caring that the deep breaths felt more like rocks than air as they passed through her throat. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled at her. "You run off ahead of schedule then you walk so fast I can barely catch up with you and you let the guy pull you off to where I can't see you when I walk right by! Are you *trying* to get yourself killed?" He took his eyes off the killer to search her face. "Are you?"

She shook her head, confused at his attack and still unable to manage words with her damaged throat. A weak, whispered, "Sorry," was all she could manage. 

At the sound of her voice, or lack thereof, the expression on John's face changed. "Oh, God, Sam I'm so sorry. It's just that you...." He trailed off, pulling her into an even tighter embrace. As their backup finally arrived and took over the prisoner, John helped Sam out of the doorway and half-dragged her to a fairly isolated spot a few yards away. He radioed to the team that he needed a paramedic for Sam, then finally seemed to realize that she was pushing against him. He loosened his hold immediately. "Are you okay?"

She nodded slowly, then hugged him and let go before shaking her head. "Couldn't...breathe," she managed to rasp out, waving her hand in the small space between two of them.

"Great, I keep the guy from slitting your throat and then I try to suffocate you." He pulled her into another embrace, gentler this time, and she accepted the comfort gratefully. After what just happened she could use some support--mentally as well as physically. 

Just when she was beginning to get warm again, he backed off a little. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, watching her face carefully.

She nodded as a paramedic hurried up to them. John told the paramedic what the problem was, then went with Sam as she sat on a nearby staircase to let herself be checked over. He answered a few questions when Bailey arrived, but didn't seem inclined to leave Sam's side until the man was finished examining Sam. 

"She's okay," he told John when he was done. Sam pulled on the paramedic's jacket and gave him a pointed look. The man turned to John. "What?"

John grinned. "She can't speak, but she can hear just fine. I think she'd rather you told her what's wrong with her instead of me. She's stubborn that way." He sidestepped quickly and just managed to evade Sam's hand as she tried to smack him for the comment.

"Sorry, Agent Waters. You need to give your voice a complete rest over the next few days. No talking."

"Yeah, right," John said with a laugh. This time he didn't step away quickly enough. "Watch it! That hurt." 

Sam gave him a satisfied smile, then turned her attention back to the paramedic, who was looking very amused. "I'm serious about the talking," he said. "No matter how much you think you need to say something, if you want to have that voice for the rest of your life, you'll lay off."

She frowned, and this time he interpreted the look on his own. "Invest in some notebooks and a couple of good pens." She rolled her eyes, but then nodded. "I'm going to give you a shot for the pain, since I doubt you'll feel like swallowing much tonight. And you need to see a doctor in about two days to check on the throat, and I mean it when I say no talking."

She gave him a dramatic sigh, then nodded again. "I'll be back with the shot in a minute," he said before heading back to his truck. 

After he'd gone, John sat down on the step next to Sam. "So I could say anything I want to you right now without any return fire?"

She glared at him for a moment, then balled her hand into a fist and bounced it lightly off his shoulder. "Oh, so if you can't give me a tongue-lashing you'll settle for a beating?"

She smiled briefly, but it faded as she turned her eyes back to the now empty doorway surrounded by agents. John put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close again. "Don't think about it. Just be glad you're okay and leave it at that for tonight."

After a moment, she relaxed and let her head drop onto his shoulder as everything really began to hit her. The combination of fear and pain forced tears to her eyes, tears she couldn't stop. When she moved to wipe them away, he noticed. 

"Hey," he said softly, "I thought I told you not to think about it." For some reason, his tone caused the tears to fall faster. He pulled her closer as she turned her head to bury it against his shoulder, both arms going behind his back. 

They stayed like that for a minute until she managed to stop the crying. "Sorry," she tried to whisper as she pulled away. 

"No talking," he whispered back, "remember?" She smiled and nodded as she wiped the last of the tears off her face. 

"Dr. Waters?"

John groaned as he recognized the voice. "What are you doing here, Hale?"

"I was just about to ask the two of you the same thing. Is there--did you find..." Trevor trailed off, looking expectantly at Sam, who turned to John. 

"We caught the guy," John answered curtly.

"Before or after he...um...."

"He was...caught in the act." 

"Oh." Trevor looked almost afraid to ask the next question. "Did he do any damage?"

John frowned at him. "You ask too many questions."

"I think I have a little more than just a passing interest in this case. Besides, I was asking Dr. Waters."

"She can't really answer right now."

"Of course, not, not with you jumping in first every time."

"She lost her voice."

For the first time, Trevor took a close look at Sam, then at the paramedics and the rest of the scene. "Was she the one...?"

"Now you're getting it."

"I'm sorry...I didn't realize...."

"Well now that you do, you can just be on your way." Sam glared at John. "I mean, this is a crime scene, would you please step back?"

"The crime scene is over there," Trevor pointed out.

Before John could say anything else, the paramedic came back. "I managed to find you some powdered pain relievers," he said as he handed Sam some small packages. "They'll be a lot easier to swallow for the next few days."

Sam mouthed a thank you as the man prepped a needle. John stood and backed off from the steps a few paces while the paramedic gave Sam the shot. "It's a shame," Trevor said, reminding John that he was still there.

Determined not to get angry when he had to focus on Sam, John turned to the bartender. "What?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"That she had to go through all that to get you to stop being an ass."

John took a deep breath. "There are a lot of law enforcement officers around here right now. I suggest you go thank every one of them for being here, because if they weren't I'd...."

Trevor shrugged, ignoring the threat. "All I'm saying is that every time I see the two of you you're baiting her, and it's just too bad that it takes something like this to bring you to your senses."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The two of you, on the steps, your arms around her. Ring a bell now?"

"She'd been through hell. I was just offering my support."

Trevor snorted, then took a closer look at John's face. "You're serious, aren't you?" John nodded once, his eyes crackling with anger. "You're either insane, or you're further in denial than Claire thinks I am."

"Do *not* compare me to you."

"Suit yourself, pal. I don't know you that well, but I happen to be an expert on love, and the two of you can run away from it all you want, but it's just going to follow you."

"What?"

Trevor grinned. "You'll figure it out," he said as he walked back over to Sam. "Sorry for what happened, Dr. Waters, but I'm glad you caught the guy." Sam smiled and nodded her thanks. Trevor leaned closer. "If you're smart," he whispered, you'll catch that one before he destroys himself running away from you." She gave him a startled glance as he pulled back, then she turned to John, calming down when she saw he was too far away to hear.

"Take care of yourself," Trevor said as he turned to go. "Later, Sherlock," he called to John.

"Come on." John held out his hand to Sam. After a second, she put her hand in his and let him pull her off the step. "I'm taking you back to the hotel." She let him guide her to the car Bailey had arrived in and put her in the passenger seat, then watched while he stopped to speak to Bailey for a second before returning to the car.

When he was about to turn the key, she tugged on his sleeve. He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks," she whispered, then winced.

"You're welcome," he responded with a soft smile as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "And stop talking," he added as he started the car.

***

"Are you sure you don't need anything else?" John asked for the fifth time. Sam shook her head, no longer even trying to hide her amusement. "Okay, here's some tea. Drink it. Doctor's orders."

She picked up the pen and small notepad provided by the hotel and wrote, "I'm the doctor."

"Not tonight."

She nodded as she wrote, "Sleep," then pointed at the door.

"Not until you promise to drink your tea."

She let out a dramatic sigh, then took a drink from the mug before giving him a pointed look, then pushing him toward the door. He turned the knob. "You know where to find me if you need anything." 

She nodded rapidly, helping him out of the room. When he was on the other side of the door, he looked at her for a long moment. "I'm glad you're okay."

She smiled, mouthed a silent thank you, then shut the door. Once he was gone, she laid down on the bed. It took her less than two minutes to realize she was still too keyed up to sleep. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stop replaying the events of the evening over and over in her mind. After trying several different things to distract herself, she finally decided to work on her case report. If she had to think about it, she might as well be productive.

She took a legal pad out of her briefcase and sat down at the table with her pen. Her mind drifted back to the moments right after she'd knocked the killer out. John had nearly suffocated her in his relief. He had barely left her side since then until she'd kicked him out of her room. It was quite a change from his usual behavior toward her these days. A drastic change. One that led her to wonder exactly what had caused him to be such a jerk recently if he obviously still cared about her.

Trevor Hale's words came back to her. "Catch him before he destroys himself running away from you." Could that be the reason behind John's recent behavior? He'd always used either humor or anger as a defense against things he didn't want to think about, much less talk about, and they were usually the things most likely to hurt him. Could his sudden animosity toward her be his attempt to avoid his feelings?

Without making a conscious decision, she picked up the legal pad and went down the hall to knock on John's door. As soon as she knocked she realized she had no idea what she was going to say, but before she could change her mind, he opened the door. "What's wrong?" She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong? Then what are you--is your throat worse? Should I call the doctor?"

She forced herself not to smile as she wrote, "I'm fine."

"Then shouldn't you be in bed?"

He waited while she scribbled, "Can I come in?"

"Of course, sorry." He pulled the door back further and she entered the room. She was a little too wired to take a seat, so she leaned on the dresser. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"Fine. Why do you care?"

He blinked at the legal pad, then at Sam. "I'd hate to see anything happen to you," he responded after a moment.

"So why the cold shoulder?"

"What?" He stared at the words for a second. "When did I give you the cold shoulder?"

She could tell from his tone that he wasn't being honest. She crossed her arms and gave him a level look, her eyes never leaving his face until he started to squirm. "Okay, so maybe I've been a little distant lately...."

Sam made a disbelieving sound and rolled her eyes. "Distant?" She underlined the word. "Grand Canyon!"

He moved over to the table to pick up his drink. "Do we really need to talk about this now? You should be in bed."

"No," she tried to say, then immediately regretted it. Her hand flew to her throat, only slightly faster than John reached her side.

"Are you okay?" She nodded, taking the bottle of water he handed her. "See, this is why we shouldn't be doing this now. You definitely shouldn't be talking."

She lifted the notepad again. "Why?"

"Because the doctor said so." She shook her head, then pointed to her earlier question. "It wasn't the cold shoulder," he argued, which earned him another pointed look. "I was just a little...miffed."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Seen miffed," she wrote. "You were more."

"You know, you're a lot more eloquent when you're not writing in sentence fragments." She frowned, her disappointment plain to see. "Sorry. Old habits are hard to break."

She pointed at the question again. "I don't know," he answered. "One day you just started to...drive me crazy."

"Short trip," she scribbled, then immediately started to cross it out, but he'd already seen it.

"And I'm not the only one who's been 'distant,' as you put it. You give as good as you get, lady."

"Responding to you."

"Oh, so we're going to play 'you started it' now?"

She tapped her foot impatiently before trying a different question. "Why do you dislike Paul?"

"Who?" She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, right, Paul. I don't necessarily dislike Paul...I just don't *like* him." She pointed at the 'Why.' "I don't know. I never liked lawyers, you know that."

"Prosecutor," she wrote. "Good guys."

"Yeah, right." His tone dripped sarcasm. "They like to make you think that."

Sam shook her head. "Mad at me for dating him or him for dating me?"

"What?"

She silently cursed her lack of a voice. "Were you mad at me for dating Paul," she wrote carefully, "or were you mad at Paul for dating me?"

"I'm not mad. Period. At anyone."

"Not now--before."

"I'm not mad, I wasn't mad. There is no mad going on here." She shook her head, indicating she didn't believe him. "What do I have to do to get you to believe that I'm not mad?"

"Tell me why you were a jerk."

John blinked. "A jerk?" She nodded. "I was a jerk?"

"Rude, then."

For a moment he looked like he might argue again, then he shrugged and turned away. "I told you, I don't know," he answered quietly. "I have no idea."

She tapped him on the shoulder until he turned around. "My theory?" she wrote.

"I'm not sure I want another theory from you about me."

A half-smile crossed her face. "Too bad." He didn't look away from the page, so she continued. "You don't like Paul because you like me."

"I like you so I don't like him? That makes no sense."

"Not like then. Better word?"

He turned suddenly, crossing to the window. "I don't know what you mean."

She huffed, indicating she knew he understood her just fine, but joined him at the window and clarified. "Feelings?"

"Sorry, I only do seventies songs on Saturdays."

She smacked him on the arm before writing, "Stop it."

"Stop what? I tried to put a stop to this earlier, but you insisted."

Sam closed her eyes for a second and prayed for patience. She had quite a few things to say to him, but if she had to write them all down they'd be here all night. He had to help her out a little. "The truth," she wrote.

"When I was ten, I had a pet fish that I accidentally killed because I forgot to feed it. Your turn--or would you prefer a dare?"

"We can play this until you're hoarse, or you can admit it."

"Admit what? I don't know what you're talking about."

She didn't believe him for a second, but she didn't have any hard proof either. There could conceivably be a slight chance she had read him wrong, or seen what she wanted to see, but she didn't believe it. Even in vehement denial there was a scared look in his eyes. He didn't want her to know. And the more she pushed him to tell the truth, the more he'd dig his heels in and deny it.

She shrugged. "Fine," she wrote. "My mistake." She turned and left the room quickly before he could react. Once she was back in her own room she pulled a clean sheet of paper off the legal pad and wrote a short letter. When it was finished, she read it through once more, knowing this was her last chance to change her mind. She could tear it up, go to sleep, and things would go on as before. If she gave this to John, nothing would be the same.

Her hand lifted to her throat as she relived the scene a few hours ago when she'd almost been killed. Could have been killed. Probably would have been killed, if it hadn't been for John. She'd been fighting for so long against feeling anything for anyone, choosing instead to date safe men, men she could lose without the kind of soul-tearing pain she'd felt when she'd lost Tom. Living half a life, thinking one day, maybe, when Jack was gone she would let herself be free to live a full one. Unless, of course, she never got that chance. 

One corner of her mouth lifted as she made her way down the hall again and slid the folded paper under his door. There are only so many times you can face down death before you realize you have to go after the things that matter.

***

Less than five minutes later there was a loud, insistent knock at her door. She checked the peep hole, then pulled the door open. "What do you mean 'marry Paul'?" John demanded, holding her letter in the air.

She shrugged, leaving the door open and returning to the table to pick up her notepad. He shut the door behind him as he followed her in time to read the word she'd written. "Problem?"

"You barely know the guy." She shrugged again. "Are you nuts?" She didn't answer. "You can actually say something in this letter about being attracted to me and then say you're going to marry him?"

She took the letter from his hand and scanned the lines until she found the ones she wanted and pointed them out to him. "Like I said, attracted to me." She pointed again, hitting the words with her pen. "Okay, fine, so it says attraction between us, but that implies you're attracted to me."

"And you me," she wrote. "Admit it?"

"Fine, so I find you attractive. So what? That means you have to go marry Paul? It's not like I made a pass at you or something."

She couldn't believe it. He thought she wanted to get married because she was afraid he would make a pass? "Idiot."

He frowned at the notepad. "Who, you or me."

"Yes," she wrote. "Fighting like kids on a playground."

He blinked several times. "If I live to be a hundred I will never understand you. *What*?"

"Us. Always fighting to hide--" she paused, nibbling on her pen while she tried to think of the right way to phrase it, "how we feel."

"Looks to me like you have no problem with it. Especially in the part where you mention marrying Paul!"

"Reasons why I shouldn't marry him?"

"How about the part where you're attracted to me."

"Two-way street."

"Whatever. You can't marry someone when you feel something for someone else."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Forget it," she wrote. "Bad idea."

"I'll say. What ever possessed you to think about marrying him?"

"Not that. The letter."

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a good thing. Gave me a chance to talk some sense into you."

"John, go to bed."

"Not until you promise you won't do anything rash." Sam shook her head. "Is that your promise?"

She shook her head again. "Not promising anything."

"Then I'm not leaving."

"Why?"

"Because you can't marry him." 

Sam underlined the "Why?"

"Because." 

Her lips thinned as she studied him. After a moment she shook her head. "Not good enough."

"You're not in any shape to make decisions right now. You're on pain killers, you were almost...you were...you went through a lot tonight."

"I was almost killed," she wrote quickly. 

He read the lines, then turned away, raking his hand through his hair as he looked out the window. "I know that, I was there, remember?"

She blocked his view so he had to look at her. "Life is short." Her writing was very deliberate. "I'm tired of waiting for the right time."

This time she could clearly see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "Don't do this. Not tonight."

"Why?"

"Because."

"WHY?"

"Because I can't fight you. Not after everything that happened tonight."

"So don't."

He took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll just go." 

Before he could even turn around, she grabbed his arm. When he didn't make another move to leave, she let go. "Stop fighting."

"I...I can't." She nodded. "No, I can't."

"Why?"

"You know, if you go back and count how many times you've written that word tonight, you're going to be up until time to leave."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Hiding." He stared at her, no longer able to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about, but still unable to do anything about it. "Fine." She stood so he could see each word as she was writing, almost afraid he'd leave if he had time to think while she wrote. "I'll go first. When I met you--"

"Don't do this."

"WHY?"

"Because when you wake up in the morning and the pain killers and adrenaline have worn off, you'll be kicking yourself."

She shook her head. "Been kicking myself all night over NOT doing this sooner."

"Sam--" 

She put her hand over his mouth and shook her head again. After a moment, she lowered her hand, returning to the notepad when he stayed silent. "When I met you I felt the attraction," she wrote slowly, choosing her words with care, "and I didn't want it." She raised her hand to stop him as his mouth opened. "I was scared. For a long time. I knew it frustrated you. But I couldn't do anything about it."

He read her words several times before asking, "And what changed all of a sudden?"

Sam shrugged. "When I realized I could have died tonight and never done anything about this--you would never have known. I wouldn't have had the chance to tell you. Or to do this." Her hands, still holding the pen and paper, dropped to her sides as she leaned up and kissed him softly.

For a moment he just looked stunned. "You shouldn't have done that," he said finally.

"Why?"

"Because you can't take it back."

"Don't want to."

He leaned down and kissed her, a hesitant kiss at first, then a more assured one. "I still think you're going to regret this in the morning." She shook her head. "Suit yourself. I'm not arguing anymore." Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise.

John ducked his head, glancing down at the floor. "When somebody offers you the one thing you really want, there are only so many ways to politely refuse before you grab it," he said quietly.

She tugged on his chin until his eyes met hers. "Best idea you've had tonight," she wrote before she kissed him again.

"And now, before I get any other ideas, I think I should go."

Sam frowned, but she knew he was right. To say it had been a long day was putting it mildly. And the two of them alone in a room with a bed and a couch was extreme temptation. But to test the tentative emotional bonds they'd formed tonight by further actions wouldn't be smart. She hadn't gone through hell just to mess it up now.

She walked with him to the door. Before he opened it, he gave her a lingering kiss. "Okay," he said as he reached for the knob, "I have to ask. Would you really have married Paul?"

She laughed silently, then wrote, "Never said I was marrying him."

"It was in the letter."

She took the letter he still held in his hand and pointed to a line. "I know, I read it. It says 'If I'm wrong about your feelings then I guess I can marry Paul.'"

"Can," she wrote. "Not will."

He closed his eyes briefly. "You knew what that would do to me, didn't you?" She nodded. "You're supposed to use your powers for good, Sam."

"Didn't I?"

John thought about it for a moment. "Yeah," he answered at last, "I guess you did." He leaned down for one more kiss before pulling the door open. "Night, Sam." She smiled as the door closed behind him, then headed straight for bed, confident she could sleep now.

***

Trevor was flipping through TV channels, trying to find something to distract his brain, when there was a light knock at the door. He muted the television before answering the knock. When he saw Claire on the other side of the door, his eyes widened. "Isn't it a little late for house calls?"

She smiled. "A good doctor never sleeps."

"In that case, come in." He closed the door behind her as she entered the apartment. "Something wrong?"

"I saw on TV that they caught the killer."

"I wouldn't classify that as something 'wrong'."

"No." Claire stood in the middle of the room. "I didn't know if you'd heard, and I thought you'd want to know."

Trevor gave her a dubious look. "You came all the way out here at two in the morning to tell me that? Even the gods know about telephones, Claire."

"I didn't want to wake Champ."

"Champ is in that play, remember? He's not even home yet."

"Okay, I wanted to check up on you."

A twisted smile appeared on his face. "Should I be flattered or offended?" 

"Trevor--"

"Because it's nice that you care and all, so I'm flattered, but I have to tell you, the fact that you think that having that maniac behind bars instead of loose on the streets is something I'd have a problem with is a little offensive."

She stared at him. "Are you finished?"

"I'm not sure." He scratched his forehead and scrunched up his eyes as if he was trying really hard. "I think I'm done for the moment. But I reserve the right to take the floor again at any time."

"Trevor, the board is going to want to know--"

"The board. There you go again. 'The board wants me to keep an eye on you, the board is going to want answers, the board wants me to sleep with you--'"

"I never said that!"

He grinned. "Okay, I made the last one up. But the point remains. You're always using the board as an excuse. Come on, admit it, you like me a little."

Claire shook her head. "I should have used the phone."

"Come on, Sparky, it's not that hard to admit."

"You're obnoxious, unpredictable, uncontrollable and sometimes you can be a real pain in the ass."

His grin grew even wider. "And?"

"And I might have gotten a little used to having you around, yes."

"I knew it!" He pumped his fist in the air and did a little dance. "Learned that one from Monday Night Football," he said when he finished.

"Did I mention incorrigible?" He just continued to grin at her. "When you're done gloating, you might want to consider that the board could easily yank you off the streets and put you back into the institution."

"I'm aware of that."

Claire sighed. "Then cooperate with me a little, will you? I need you to talk to me about what happened."

The grin finally faded. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Denial isn't going to make it go away."

"Funny," he said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face briefly, "I said something very much like that to someone earlier."

"Then maybe you should take a little of your own advice."

"You never recommend anyone take my advice." Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, okay, fine. I don't know what else I can tell you other than what I've already said." He sat down and stared at the floor. "Yes, it was horrible. Yes it was beyond anything I thought one human being could do to another. Yes, I have nightmares about it. But what am I supposed to do, stop living because someone died?"

He stood and began pacing. "I do what I guess anyone else would do in this situation. I try not to think about it twenty-four hours a day, I look around and realize the world didn't stop turning--hell, time didn't even stand still for an instant." He stopped in front of her to look her in the eye. "And then I try to just get on with life without analyzing someone else's sick, merciless act from here to Olympus and back."

For a long moment she just looked at him. Then she patted him on the shoulder. "You don't need me here," she said with a smile.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I may not need a shrink, but the job of love slave is still open. I bet the costume would even fit you."

Claire couldn't help herself. She laughed at him. "Goodnight, Trevor," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

"Are you sure you don't want to just try the costume on?"

"Goodnight," she said again as she walked out.

***

John finished buttoning his sleeve as he hurried over to answer the knock at the door. He stopped working the second button into the hole when he saw Sam on the other side. "Morning," he said cautiously.

She smiled and held up her legal pad. "Breakfast?"

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he tried again to get his sleeve buttoned. "Need someone to order for you?"

She glared at him for a second before writing, "That mean you'll do my bidding?"

"You'd have to have a voice bid me to do anything." She ignored the jibe and pointed at 'breakfast' again. "Sure." He frowned down at the button on his sleeve, which refused to go into the buttonhole. Sam put her legal pad and pen down on the dresser just inside the door and pulled his arm toward her, buttoning the sleeve in a matter of seconds. Then she picked up the pad and pointed at the word again.

"Lead the way," he said as he grabbed his jacket and followed her down the hall.

Once they'd been seated and placed their order, there was nothing else to distract them. "So..." John said, looking around the room. "Did you sleep well?"

Sam smiled. "Sore throat, stress, emotion. Yes."

John laughed. "I guess that makes as much sense as anything else on this trip."

"Problem?" she wrote.

"No...it's just been an...odd couple of days. For one thing, you were almost...."

She picked up her pen, "But I wasn't."

"True." His eyes showed just how grateful he was that she'd survived. "Well, we met the God of Love, you have to admit that was weird."

"You believe him?" Sam wrote with a grin.

"Not for a minute," John replied with an answering grin of his own. "But he might have a *little* insight once in a while."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "He said something last night," John admitted reluctantly, "implying that I was in denial or hiding my feelings or something."

Her grin grew even wider. "And?"

"And..." he studied his fork in silence for a moment, "he might have had something there."

Sam scribbled something, then shoved her legal pad in his direction. "Tell him what?" John asked. 

She took the pad back and wrote, "He was right."

John snorted. "Sure, right after I turn my next five collars lose." Sam frowned at him. "What?" Her frown turned into a near scowl. "That's not fair," he complained. 

She tilted her head sideways, her eyebrows arched. "You want me to go tell the nut--sorry, the mentally challenged Trevor Hale, the guy who thinks he's Cupid, that he was right, I was wrong, and I'm sorry I ever doubted him."

"Only right."

"That's bad enough."

"Not fair?"

His mouth curved into a crooked smile. "It's not fair because you know I'll do it if you ask."

She smiled back at him before writing, "Sorry for hounding him when he's innocent then?"

John sighed. "Do I have to?"

She nodded. "After breakfast?"

"Fine," he answered with a sigh. "But only if you come with me."

"Afraid you'll chicken out?"

"No." He grinned mischievously. "It's just an excuse to get you alone before we have to get on the plane with everyone else."

Sam laughed. "You're bad."

"I'm serious. Have you thought about what it's going to be like, hiding this from everyone?"

She nodded, her smile fading. "Can't hide forever."

"I know. But we can keep it quiet as long as possible. Because once it's out...."

She nodded again. "It'll work."

"I know. We're the two most stubborn people on the planet--how could it not?"

***

Trevor was less than surprised to see Claire walk into the bar before they were even open for lunch. "I'm sorry, miss, but the Psychologists Anonymous meeting was canceled for today."

"Very funny," she said as she sat down and propped her head up with her hand. "Can I *please* have some coffee?"

"We're not open yet." At the tired, impatient look on Claire's face, Trevor relented and poured her a cup of coffee. "Late night?"

Claire nodded before gulping at the coffee. "Ouch!"

"Coffee is hot, Claire. Don't you keep up on the McDonalds' law suits?"

"I wasn't thinking. After I got home from visiting you, I wasn't even in bed before I got a call from a patient...and things just went downhill from there."

"So you came here to see me to cheer you up? How flattering."

Claire sniffed. "Actually, I was hoping you'd changed into a cuter God. Maybe Hercules."

"Ha! You've been watching too much Action Pack TV. The real Hercules had more muscles than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his Mr. World days, and his face looked like he'd been run over by a truck. No, a really big truck. Actually, more like a fleet of really big, really heavy trucks."

Before Claire could respond, the door opened again, and Sam and John walked in. "I have to remember to start locking that until we open," Trevor muttered.

"Be nice," Claire said under her breath before turning to face the other two. "Good morning, Agent Grant, Dr. Waters. I heard you solved the case. Congratulations."

Sam nodded as John said, "Thanks."

"I guess you guys will be heading back home to watch for more aliens?" Trevor asked.

John's jaw tightened, but after a slight touch on the arm from Sam, he visibly forced himself to relax. "Mr. Hale, I wanted to..." he glanced at Sam, who nodded her encouragement, "apologize," he ground out finally.

"For existing? Or have you done something else to offend me?" Claire turned a disappointed face toward Trevor. "Okay, okay. For what did you want to say how very sorry you were?"

"I realize that I...hounded you a little during the investigation because I thought you might be the killer. We all appreciate your help and cooperation during the case, and...I'm...sorry if I caused you any inconvenience."

"Gee, that's not exactly the most heartfelt apology I've ever heard." Trevor's comment earned him another glance from Claire. "But at least it's an apology, I guess. Forget about it. What I want to know is why that guy was doing what he was doing."

"His ex-girlfriend was getting married," John explained. "They had a history of big fights, she'd even brought him up on charges for abuse but then dropped them. From the timing it looks like he might have seen her engagement in the paper or heard about it, and he snapped. Started seeing her in women in bars and was trying to stop her or something. Ridding the world of something that was taking up air for the rest of us."

Trevor gave him a disbelieving look. "You come up with that all on your own?"

"No," he said, smiling down at Sam. "She did."

Claire turned to Sam. "I heard you ended up in the direct line of fire, so to speak. I hope you're okay."

"She's sort of out of a voice for a couple of days," John explained as Sam started writing on the pad she was carrying. Sam finished her message, tore the paper off and handed it to Claire.

Claire read the message. "Thank you. And I'm glad."

Sam smiled and nodded, then reached across the bar to shake Trevor's hand. They said their good-byes, and Sam and John turned to leave.

As they watched the pair walk out of the bar, Trevor smiled. "I told you those two would get together."

"You noticed it too?"

"Hard not to. If he'd been standing any closer to her, he'd probably get reprimanded by his boss. They must have brushed up against each other a dozen times while they were here. And when they looked at each other...."

Claire turned to face him. "With jobs like that, though...what do you think their chances are of making it work?"

"I'd give them a better than average shot. They've seen a lot, enough to appreciate what they have between them." He glanced down at her in surprise. "Why bother asking my opinion? Could it be you finally believe after all this time?"

"Hardly. But you do seem to have a bit of intuition where some couples are concerned. Never hurts to ask."

Trevor heaved a dramatic sigh. "Mark my words," he said as he went back to wiping off the bar, "one of these days you will realize I'm telling the truth."

"Dream on."

"So what did the doctor say in her little note?"

Claire smiled as she tucked the piece of paper firmly in her pocket. "Nothing you need to know about."

"Let me guess, the two of you got chummy and she was admitting that I was right about her and her agent boy-toy and she thought you should take a closer look at me and admit that you couldn't do any better than the God of Love."

"See, now that's the kind of talk that just reinforces the opinion that you are light years from sane."

"Your mouth says it's not so, but your eyes say different. I know you. I can read you like a book."

Claire shook her head. "The day you understand me, Trevor, is the day I check myself into a clinic."

"I hear Dr. Frechette can make you new in no time. Some kind of miracle drug he has or something."

"Trevor?"

"Claire?"

"Shut up."

* * *


End file.
